


all the same

by centipedepals



Series: wilted [2]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, F/M, Gore, Gross, M/M, Necrophillia, One-Sided Love, Sexual Themes, angsty, apologies in advance, drv3 spoilers again (wow), haha no bf clown man, implied saimatsu, it's just more rambling, love hotel mentions, one-sided omasai, pee your pants, sad boye hours, welcome back to me screaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centipedepals/pseuds/centipedepals
Summary: on a day when our hearts come to a different kind of stop, yet they still stop all the same.lower-case intentional, drv3 spoiler warning !!





	all the same

**Author's Note:**

> kind of a sequel to 'dead, dead, dead' !! it can be read seperately, but i highly reccomended you read that first. please and thank you,, 
> 
> explicit warning marked for; sexual references/implications, gore/graphic fantasies, pain-play, body horror, necrophillia, fantaziation of murder/death !! please check the tags and be careful !

guts tied in a perfect bow, drowning in thoughts. thoughts of you- _that's the catch_. a predictable display, but one that still fills me to the brim with boiling self-hatred each time. never had it been different, not once. always the same obnoxious parade of thoughts, worlds away from what was real. hit by waves that sunk me under and back up again, silently begging for mercy under wheezes and chokes. always struggling against forces that were bound to sink me each time.

arms flailing, tears falling, nothing to grip on to. just myself sinking over and over again, despite my efforts to get away. to find land to abide on. i'm always sinking, always going under. constantly, never ending. being choked by a ghost, though i'm the only one to see it.

but i tire. i always tire. of everyone, everything. any possible turn of events in any situation never strike me as perfectly original. that's why the waves that you've created in my mind to unleash upon me had weakened, leaving me patiently wading. watching my thoughts drain, until nothing of what once was remains.

just the idea of once- _fucking once_ , you would be absent from my mind. it fills me with a glowing warmth. because you're a bore, a pest. _anyone who bores me long enough with their antics are no less pestering than a fly_. something i love telling myself. and that's why i hate you. despise you, in fact. because you'll always be a bore, unless you keep me thinking. which you never do. not after i've concluded your mind impossible.

you'd be better off dead, killed, gone. a swelled corpse emitting the smell of a sickening brew concocted of mold and flesh, welcoming any bug who'd feast on such a thing.

perhaps it'd just further the aching in my soul. the ache that hurts worse and worse each day. maybe i'd be satisfied. a situation fully grasped in my palms. maybe i'd choose to take it slow, painful. taking all the time in the world to drink in all your facial expressions and noises. maybe i'd go quick, for your own sake. going as quickly as i can, just for our pains to rot away.

either way, i'd be happy. having control over you, mentally, physically. every single emotions in my hands. gems, rare and sacred. a treasure shared between only us.  _but it's not like you'd remember_.

and oh, how i dream of your neck in my hands. gripped on so tightly, not wanting to get rid of the feeling of skin-on-skin contact. not wanting you to break free. would it not be loving? unspoken love confessions and late-night secrets spoken in one gaze.

life in my hands, though i'd never actually touch it. not beyond what's already been touched, anyways. ogling at your frightened expression, and lovingly sighing at the way you'd say- _let me go, it's not funny, i'm being serious this time_.

how the gold in your eyes would dilate. how you'd shake beneath my grasp, letting myself go over the edge- _just a little further_. how it'd all be just for show, with an audience of one. suspense building, a house of cards. a work that is delicate and frail, a 'one-wrong-move-and-it's-over' kind of act. how once i'd let you go, i'd pull a ' _got'cha_ '! that spike of a heart rate that'd stick with you until death.

and no matter the outcome, despite what ever happened, i still would've gotten exactly what i wanted. your attention, your gaze. the feeling of having you at my mercy. everything i'd ever want out of you, finally released all at once, all in one glorious, unforgettable, absolutely, 100% not boring act.

and (even then), in the end of it all, you couldn't do a thing. you wouldn't do a thing, not to _me_ , not in _my_ mind. not in the only place you know how to catch me. an idea more than thrilling, to have your eyes on me. fixated, yet loving. gentle and telling. gazes you had never given anyone but her. gazes that, in the depths of my brain, belong to me.

it's an obvious work of fiction, but a thrilling one, at that. a bittersweet, still tooth-rotting reality that's made me want nothing but your complete, raw attention. how i would die for it. a show most spectacular, put on all for you.  _all for your love_.

limbs being cracked, muscles throbbing while being forced into every possible direction, organs sliced right open and forced inside-out, a pain i'd rather feel than internally aching. so starved of attention and care. skin now just a thin cloth over a pathetic body. no one to love, not a soul to give out an encore.

it's a shame, in the end. but it'll have to do. after all, there seems to be no way to get things through to you. to poke a hole through your head, string a thin wire inside, leave love letters and wishes for you to sink in. only for nothing to be realized, nothing to be changed. simplicity has one definition.

though i could never convince you how much i truly wanted to be silently toyed with. picked apart, letting the searing feeling of tearing skin seep into aggravated nerves. being roughed up, torn apart. being showered with words of love, gazes of affection, all while being cut into, pulled apart. exposed to the open air, to open eyes. begging with only dying breaths and silent screams. vocal cords ripped to shreds, feasting for a numbing kind of hunger. even if i did, you wouldn't care. you wouldn't do it. unless you were to do it for _her_.

  
a broken heart, a shattered skull. _how sad_! maybe if you wound up dead, on a day we'd least expect, in a place as good as baron, maybe my heart rate would finally slow. maybe my mind would filter you out. maybe i wouldn't have to love. just maybe.

it may or may not be a waste. with a heart full to the brim with an expired, rotten desire. sitting out, day after day. a heart that never changes, not even after murder. after death. and all for _who_? for _what_? a _dead girl_? what a _joke_.

holding an indescribable, scorching passion for a thing. cold and still, transparent skin decayed beyond description. falling right off the bone in flakes, becoming one with the ground below. eyes in a gentle, unsettling close, with the hair that once draped over them like the shade created by branches now wasting away like the rest of her. no blood left to be shed, no tears left to fall. the internal roasting of skin, vocal cords wilting into nothing. laying everything bare, whispering hideous promises and shoving unwanted nothings into a body named property of worms and fungus.

to want nothing more than just to kiss her hand and feel the acid of your stomach on your tongue. squeezing the last of everything out of a girl already wasted. night after night, as limbs fall and skin decays. watching limp fingers only once good for pressing into keys now weighing tons to a finger eaten by maggots and with hardly even scraps of skin still even remaining. a piece that was burned. a tune that wasn't right. a girl that wasn't meant to be loved. someone had to pay the price for that, surely. though, it must be worth it somehow. _you have proved that more than anyone ever could_.

  
maybe i would want the same, if you were dead. would still dream of falling asleep with your scent on my skin and my face in the crook of your neck. maybe i would still dream of having you there, despite you being as worthless as the girl you put on a pedestal. a throne of torn-off limbs, and loose bones. a tragic sight, though still desirable. a mental image sculpted to your perfection. your ideals. all referenced of a _stupid, good-for-nothing, cold blooded, stone hearted, murderer_.

though, that never concerned you much. the hours of useless screaming and empty threats, all along she had been the most cold hearted of us all. what a shame, is it not? the one who wanted us, assured and promised us alive. that we would be alive. that she'd assure our protection, no matter the sacrifices, the consequences she must face. that out of us all, she was the most sick and twisted. nothing but a cold hearted actress?

that doesn't seem to taint you though, it seems that nothing will. not even if you were her sacrifice, her lie. you still wouldn't care, none of that would matter. not even if _she_ killed _you_. that probably wouldn't matter either. but with that kind of mindset, you're bound to die. without my genuine protection, my certainty of survival, the future would claim you'd never get by.

though, that outcome is more than fine by me. it's always quite the laugh to just see you live by her promise. with her mindset, an old hand-me-down. one that is filthy, doesn't fit. covered in stains and holes, as well as smelling of dust. yet, you were it out as if it were made for you. custom-fit, perfectly sewn and beautiful. though, it'll be the death of you. i guarantee it.

and when you finally do die, your organs all choked up, lying lifeless, bathing in your own juices as your cries began die out, all i'll do is laugh. i wouldn't shed a tear, not even out of laughter. i'll watch you wither and die, and i wouldn't even give as much as to push you into a corner and let you waste away. i'd just watch you sob and plead, like nothing at all taking place before me. i swear that's how it'll be.

on a day when both our hearts come to a different kind of stop, yet they still stop all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> a friend of mine said i should write more, so i did and it's gross. ,,,,,shocking
> 
>  
> 
> also, sorry this is short,,, i just didn't want to have this ramble on for too long?? yknow???


End file.
